You had always known that Josh had questionable taste, but this?

This was a crime against art itself.

Standing in the middle of their living room, you crossed your arms and scowled at the monstrosity hanging on the wall. The so-called "painting" looked like someone had thrown neon paint at a canvas while blindfolded and mid-seizure. It was offensive. It was hideous. It was—absolutely disgusting.

Josh, standing beside you with the self-satisfaction of a man who had definitely overpaid for it, tilted his head and examined the painting like it was a damn Van Gogh. "It's abstract. It’s supposed to be thought-provoking."

You scoffed.

Josh just grinned. A dangerous, knowing grin.

And before you could react, he grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you effortlessly over his shoulder.

You shrieked, flailing as he secured you in place.

Josh chuckled, his grip firm as he adjusted her. "Say it. Say the painting is beautiful, or I’m not setting you down."

And to your absolute horror, you realized something even worse than the hideous painting.

Josh was never taking it down.